Ode To A Teacher

Inverse polygon,
My Geometry teacher
More akin to cathedrals;
Sagrada Familia,
St Paul and St Peter,
Sculpted from long-mined
Neptunian metre,
Materials made from comet tails
And mothballed lunar-lighthouse keepers.
As a teenager faithful
To the doctrine of steeples
I attended each and every service,
With diligence worshipped
Where pews were emptied of people.
Prayers for her numbers
And manifest angles,
Riemann hypothesis,
Fröberg conjecture,
The notations entangled
With tentacled features.
Weekend seminars,
Afternoon lectures,
Memories as fragile
And as steep the travail,
As sunlight on vases
In winter
In halls which prevail,
Yet so ephemeral, fleeting;
In the orthopaedic chair
By the fire egress
I fell asleep
Before carers could ask me
And my wounded knee,
With all the same queries
Of what was real
And what remained still at large,
Uncaught, provocative and uncharged,
As mysterious to them as love
Or any autoimmune disease.

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